Awake and Dreaming
by Ciderbreak1
Summary: A "Max comes back" fic. M/L UST


"Dreaming"

"Dreaming"

Max entered Logan's apartment through his bedroom window, shocked that he didn't wake up. Even with Manticore stealth, she still couldn't hide the wet plop of her boots on the hardwood floor, nor the way the rain sloshed against the window, making it squeak when she closed it. A flash of lightning lit the bedroom for an instant, though Max didn't need it to see what she came for. Her eyes could easily adjust to the dark but instead she closed them, breathing deeply.

Logan.

She smelled herself, of course, wet leather, stringy hair, sweat and the faintest hint of blood. But the scent of male pervaded the room and she basked in the familiarity. His deodorant, mild shampoo, fluttery white things he called "dryer sheets," the pine scent of floor cleaner. Max licked her lips, her mouth watering for the wine he usually offered her when she came in. She smiled and moved around his bed, settling into a chair to watch him sleep.

He slept on his side facing her, bare to the waist, glasses resting on the table at the foot of the bed. He still wasn't shaving regularly and Max ached to reach out and run her fingers over his scruffy beard. She pulled off her gloves, folding them in her lap and clenching her hands into fists. She just didn't trust herself to stop touching him once she started. 

Logan didn't snore, but breathed deeply, his body relaxed and curled around a pillow that made Max jealous. 

__

I dreamed we made love in this bed, she thought wistfully, looking at the empty space next to him. All she had to do was slip out of her wet things and slide between the sheets, fulfilling a fantasy they'd never gotten the chance to play out. Then she'd have something to tell Original Cindy in the morning besides "by the way, I didn't die."

"Logan," she whispered finally, convinced her mere presence wasn't going to rouse him from slumber. "Logan, wake up."

After a few more times of Max softly calling his name, Logan opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at her. He smiled, his eyes half-lidded and body still slouched into the mattress.

"I keep dreaming of you," he told her. "Pretty sweet denial. Don't care."

"I'm not a dream," Max told him, her voice as soft as his. The rain was almost louder.

"Shh, don't wake me. I want to keep seeing you there. You're so beautiful."

"I'm real," Max insisted. "I didn't die in the forest."

"Of course not," Logan agreed placidly. "Manticore found you and healed you, and you escaped and came home to me. It's my favorite dream. Remember?"

Max was touched at his stark vulnerability. She'd only heard him use that voice a few times since she'd known him—the first time she'd succumbed to seizures in his presence, saying goodbye at the cabin, being absolved by him during the last period of heat. "I know who you are," he'd said, his blue eyes filled with passion and grace. 

They were silent for a few minutes, watching each other. Logan was the first to speak.

"You're not dissolving," he said in a confused voice. 

"Logan," Max said. The rest of her sentence got stuck in her throat and she swallowed, reaching her hand towards him and making contact with the edge of the bed. The sheets were soft and warm beneath her fingertips.

"Holy God!" Logan sat bolt upright, every muscle in his body tensed and fearful. He flipped on the light and fumbled for his glasses. When he could see, he warily scooted away from her despite the tears in her eyes and the visible pain on her face. 

"It's me," she said sadly. 

"No. No, it can't be. _You died in my arms_," Logan protested. "I held you and begged you not to go, but you were hurt so badly..."

"My heart was irreparably damaged. They had to transplant me. Zack—" Max's voice broke off and she looked past Logan, focusing on the rivulets of water streaming down the glass. "They gave me Zack's heart. I was emancipated with the other leftovers when the government shut down Manticore. I'm supposedly working for a florist in New York."

"It's a trap."

"If you don't trust me, kill me," Max said, fumbling through the bag that rested in the small of her back. She withdrew a knife, reached across the bed and pressed the hilt into his palm. 

"Max?" Logan's breath hitched and tears swam in his eyes, matching hers. He looked down at the knife in his hand, then back at the woman sitting hunched over in the chair next to his bed. Really looked at her. It had to be Max, his Max. No one could fake that kind of emotional angst. She was soaked through, cold and wet with her limbs drawn together for warmth. She was thinner than he'd remembered, as though she'd lost her baby fat and had been over-exercising and not eating enough…but still the most singularly beautiful face he'd ever seen.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," she whispered miserably. "If you don't want me just let me stay the night and I'll be gone in the morning, I promise. Just don't make me go back out there. It's so cold and I'm so tired, Logan, please."

"Oh my God," Logan said, shaking himself out of his shock. He tossed the knife to the floor and moved to the edge of the bed, reaching out his hand to cup her face. She turned her mouth into his palm and kissed him there, eliciting a cry of disbelief from his own lips. "Max, Max…" She leaned forward, her hands going behind his neck to pull him close. Logan was crying when he kissed her, which accounted for the taste of salt in his mouth. Max parted her lips on a breathy moan, her tongue darting inside to tangle with his, more of a homecoming than a battle for dominance. Logan was aware of his heart beating wildly beneath his chest, the feel of small fingers winding into his hair, the way her curls fell forward and tangled in his scruff. 

When he broke the kiss they were both smiling and Max subtly ran her finger over her bottom lip, wiping away a little trail of wetness there. Saliva, rain, she didn't know and didn't care. He tasted like sleep and the echo of toothpaste. 

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," Logan told her, blushing hotly when she grinned. "I didn't mean…well, maybe I did…"

"I know," Max said, standing up and turning her back to him. Logan heard the zipper of her vest being lowered, watched her pull off the heavy leather and let it fall to the floor. Her shirt was next, then her pants and underwear. He watched, mesmerized, as she scooped up the fleece sweatshirt that was folded over the rocking chair and pulled it over her head. It covered her to her upper thighs and she rolled back the sleeves. "Still cold."

"So come here," Logan invited her, folding back the blanket. 

Max snuggled down beside Logan in the bed, warming her icy feet against his warm ones. The feel of his hairy legs against her smooth ones was more erotic than the passionate kiss they'd just shared, and she rested her head underneath his chin. He didn't try to kiss her again or move against her, simply settled her against him and reached over her to shut off the light.

"Comfy?" Logan asked, wrapping his arms around her.

"Don't leave me," Max murmured, her lips moving against his collarbone. 

"I'm not going anywhere."

"See you in the morning," Max promised, sleep swiftly moving in to claim her. Logan almost laughed at the sheer joy of it.

"I love you, Max."

She was already asleep.


End file.
